Chapter Eighteen
Alec returns on the red-eye the morning after the Halloween show. When Mallory feels him slip into bed, she rolls over to check the time. Her alarm is set to go off in one hour.
“I missed you,” he says, spooning her from behind. She turns to him, her face against his neck, and notes he smells like carpeting or the inside of a department store. It’s the airport-and-stale-plane smell, and it makes her feel like a stranger is in her arms.
“Welcome back,” she murmurs. Despite the unfamiliar, institutional scent, her body instantly heats up.
Alec kisses her mouth and his hand slides between her legs, rubbing her over her underwear and then slipping his fingers inside the lace.
He strokes her clit, and she opens herself to his touch, moaning as he fingers her deeply.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d been aching for him; her body is so ready, she’s almost embarrassed by her wetness.
Alec uses one hand to tug down her panties, and she kicks them off the rest of the way.
She’s so eager to get his boxers off she has the urge to tear them.
But when she holds his hard cock, she wonders if anyone else touched him in the past few days, and then she pushes the thought aside.
She wants him too much to let reality—or her active imagination—interfere.
In that surreal moment between night and day, between dark and light, technicalities don’t matter.
Nothing is breaking through her ceaseless love and desire for him.
He stops touching her long enough to help take off her blue sleep tank. It’s just a plain cotton one from the Gap; she’d considered wearing something sexier but didn’t want to seem to be trying too hard. The best thing to do was act normal, even though she was feeling insecure.
Now, the way his eyes take her in with such intensity makes her stomach flip. She kisses his chest and works her way down to his cock, sucking on it while he strokes her hair.
“Get up here,” he finally says, his voice almost a growl.
She knows what that means; she straddles him on her knees, then lowers herself onto his wet cock.
He squeezes her ass as she slides up and down slowly, hitting the perfect spot inside herself.
Usually, at this point, she feels him growing more and more excited—and impatient.
He rarely lets her ride him for long; inevitably, he holds her tight and starts thrusting up into her, setting and controlling the rhythm until they both come.
Alec is always a top—even when he’s technically on the bottom.
But this morning, he seems strangely disconnected as she works her pussy against his shaft, and soon she can tell he isn’t even hard.
“What’s wrong?” she says.
“Nothing,” he says. “I don’t know. Maybe I just need more time after being away for a few days. And I’m exhausted.”
“Oh,” she says, trying not to take it personally. But she does.
“But don’t stop,” he says. “I want you to come.”
“That’s okay,” she says, because of course there’s no way she can keep going.
She’s sure he knows this when he pulls her against him, back in the spooning position. For some reason, she feels awful. Like she wants to cry.
“Alec,” she says softly. But he’s already asleep.
It’s probably for the best. Today isn’t a good day to be late for work. Gavin will be in court all morning, so she’ll be in charge of the office.
While she gets the coffee started, she turns on her phone and is confused by an unusual number of messages. She checks her group chat with Allison and Julie, where it reads:
You’re famous!
Nice photo, by the way. Call me!
What are they talking about?
The next message is from Bette. Heads up: Page Six got us.
Mallory jumps on Google and does a search for Page Six, yielding a photo of the two of them leaving the Blue Angel Saturday night. The caption reads Zebra’s paramour Bette Noire exits burlesque hot spot the Blue Angel with performer Mallory “Moxie” Dale.
Uh-oh. This is the last thing she wants.
Less than forty-eight hours ago, she was going to ask for time off to focus on her legal job.
And now she’s afraid the opposite will happen: She’ll lose her legal job and have only the Blue Angel.
And no, working for Gavin wasn’t as rigid an environment as her previous job, but she doubts he’d be thrilled to learn his paralegal is a burlesque dancer.
Especially since he’s been commenting on her nightlife lately—not helped by her forgetting to wash off her painted tattoo.
Her phone rings. Gavin. Her impulse is to send it to voicemail, but why delay the inevitable?
“I’m sorry to call so early,” he says. “But … have you seen the Post?”
Her stomach drops.
“Um, yes,” she says. “I can explain.” Even though she can’t. What is there to say? The photo and caption aren’t vague.
“We should discuss, but I’m on my way to court. When I get a sense of when the break will be, why don’t we grab a quick lunch. If you don’t mind coming all the way down?”
“Of course. No problem. I’ll meet you there whenever.”
After the call, she examines the online photo of herself.
She looks startled by the glare of the camera, like the proverbial deer in headlights.
Funny, she doesn’t even remember that moment.
She must have had one too many shots before they left the club.
In contrast, by her side, Bette looks cool and impervious, like she’s used to fame.
Yes, Bette is cut out for that life. She, Mallory, is not.
Everything feels off, like she’s losing control of her life. Maybe Alison and Julie were right after all.
Violet kicks off the covers, stretches out her nude body with a yawn, and reaches for her phone. She scrolls through the images of Billy Barton being ass-fucked by the Burberry model, and it almost makes her wet—not because the images are hot, but because they’re going to change her life.
She drops the phone down into the sheets and rubs her clit with her index finger, thinking of the way she fucked Poppy LaRue, but instead of Poppy tied up on her bed it’s Mallory. What will it take to get Mallory in that position? Some help from Alec, that’s what.
Emboldened by her success last night with Billy Barton, Violet feels she’s on a hot streak and dials Alec’s cell.
“Hello?”
He sounds groggy.
“It’s noon,” Violet said. “Are you sleeping? I didn’t know you party that hard.” Her estimation of him goes up a notch.
“How did you get my number?” he says.
“Oh, I have everyone’s number,” she says. Literally and figuratively. “I’ll make this quick so you can get your beauty sleep: Let’s meet up again tonight, the three of us. “
“I don’t think that’s going to happen tonight,” Alec says. She can hear him getting up and walking around.
“What’s the problem? Too tired? I’m sure Mallory is ready for some fun.”
“I don’t think so,” he says.
“Are you cranky because I didn’t fuck you, too?”
“Jesus, Violet. It’s a little early in the day for this. No, the truth is Mal isn’t up for your games, okay?”
“I think you’d be surprised what Mallory is up for,” Violet says. “You’re being too hasty in answering for her. Perhaps you should just keep your dick in your pants this time and let the girls have all the fun. Are you willing to take one for the team, Alec?”
“Mallory and I are the team, Violet. You were just a side player.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” he says.
“We’ll see. Oh—and Alec?”
“What?”
“I can’t wait to taste your girlfriend’s pussy again.”
She hangs up and starts composing a text to Mallory.